The last of ice.

Like a seed clinging to the frozen, dense earth, my spirit was full of promise. My unfurled stem remained coiled about me rather than extend into the sun. Fear can grip the heart in that way after so much distress.

My own will, coupled with the shaking of my foundations (thanks to a thief), brings me back into consciousness. Necessary tasks found themselves achieved, intimidating and stalled goals surmounted, matters resolved. I am thawing. I'm reminded of spring rites past, the circling dancers chanting the workings to eschew the ice and embrace renewal. The last of ice as I become renewed.

I accept an invitation that distresses me, recognizing what I've believed to be my role and responsibility to people and things that otherwise cause me pain, but I somehow still refuse to disavow. I'm trying to stand up without standing arrogant.

I begin seeing my ex-wife again. She's moved to my neighbourhood, and the feelings are mixed. I realize that nurturing kindness and friendship is a healthy act in itself, and that if I make designs about possible outcomes, I've already set myself up for disappointment. What's important is that I show the better person that I am, and for me, not for her. I can't change the past, but I can undermine the past from undermining me, with and for myself.

It's all growth and greenery from there, no matter who or what enters the new garden.